


in sickness and in health

by salazarsslytherin (dust_ice_fire)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, chris takes care of him, hand-wavy timeline, peter is sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust_ice_fire/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's holed up in the bathroom being sick and Chris realises that he might care a little bit more than he's willing to admit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in sickness and in health

**Author's Note:**

> I just love people taking care of Peter, basically. Also hurt/comfort. This has zero plot and is purely self-indulgent - I make no apologies!

Look, Chris isn't _worried_. He doesn't do that - or at least, _they_ don't do that. Peter would probably make a very concerted effort to be the biggest asshole possible for the next few weeks if Chris genuinely admitted to being worried, so no, he's not worried. It's just that usually Peter's really easy to get hold of, and if he misses a call he'll return it or he'll send a text to explain why he can't reply.

Only Chris has tried calling him three times now (and if Peter questions _why_ Chris felt the need to call him _three times, Christopher, honestly, it_ _'_ _s like you_ _'_ _re a jealous girlfriend_ then Chris is just going to have to make up some kind of emergency and hope that Peter doesn't care enough to ask Derek about it) and he sent a message a few hours ago that hasn't had a reply. Neither Derek nor Scott have any idea where Peter could be, though both said they'd let him know if they came across him. It's _strange_ , and in Beacon Hills, anything that's strange should be checked out immediately because it's probably planning a murder spree, an overthrow of authority and a dramatic monologue about true power. Chris knows; it happens _all the damn time_.

Regardless of what definition is given to his current state of mind, Chris pulls up outside Peter's apartment building and gets out perfectly calmly. He tries getting through to Peter on the intercom, but the werewolf doesn't answer or let him in, so Chris takes out his phone and hangs around, pretending his attention is fixed on some text or other while he waits for someone with a key card to open the door.

It's a while but eventually a couple leaves the building and Chris pretends that he's just walked up to the place, offering a quick grin before slipping through behind them. He heads for the elevator and punches the button for Peter's floor, half-considering calling again before putting the phone in his pocket - there's no point.

A woman joins him before the doors close and Chris gives her a politely detached smile before fixing his gaze on the light-up panel that tells him exactly how slowly they are ascending through the building.

"It's Christopher, right?" the woman asks, and Chris turns to her in some surprise before actually looking at her face and realising he's seen her around before. She lives on the same floor as Peter; they've crossed paths, but Chris is still surprised to find that she knows his name.

"Uh, yeah," he confirms, nodding. "Well, Chris, actually."

"Chris," she affirms, smiling a little. "You're Peter's boyfriend."

Chris chokes before he manages to smother his reaction and he goes to shake his head, but then confusion plagues him and he ends up doing an odd sort of jerk with his head that probably looks like he was just possessed by some kind of evil spirit. "I'm, well I'm kind of just - we're just - we're not-" Words, please, he needs _words_ , but she's smiling at him in a _knowing_ sort of way, in fact the _exact same smile_ that Allison uses when he tells her he's fine on his own and no, he doesn't need her to sign him up for that speed-dating event and _no_ he absolutely _is not_ seeing anyone.

"Riiight," the woman agrees, laughing at him a little bit, and Chris kind of resents that, but at least she's not pressing the issue, and then the elevator doors slide open and that particular clusterfuck of an elevator ride can be considered _over_.

Chris steps out perhaps more hastily than is really called for and nods at Peter's neighbour rather than summon up anything to say; she waves at him and heads off to her own apartment while Chris strides down the corridor to get to Peter's. He knocks, loudly, even though doing so is pretty redundant when the apartment's owner can hear him approaching and knows he's there whether he knocks or not.

Peter doesn't answer.

Chris knocks again before deciding that the key Peter had slipped on his keyring a few months ago is going to have to finally be used. He's avoided it so far, which has been fairly easy to do as usually, when he gets to Peter's apartment, the werewolf is waiting for him, but - desperate times, or whatever they call it these days. Peter's simply going to have to deal with the stark reminder that whatever he's doing with Chris has been inching its way far and beyond just _casual_ like an adult.

The key turns easily in the lock and Chris takes a moment to be silently delighted by that fact (he's going to have to get a duplicate of Peter's ' _do not duplicate_ ' card made somehow, because the idea of being able to come and go whenever he pleases is strangely heady) before worry begins to set in again. He can't hear Peter inside the apartment but resists the urge to pull out a gun because, in his experience, bursting unexpectedly in on a werewolf while holding a weapon never ends well, even if you are sort-of-maybe-dating that werewolf.

Still, he's cautious as he moves further inside, glancing into the kitchen as he goes and moving past once he's noted that Peter's not there. He's not in the living room, either, though the television is on, and Peter _never_ leaves it on when he leaves the room - he's irritatingly particular about it. He's even _interrupted sex_ before just to switch the damn thing off when they were about to move into the bedroom.

The television being on prompts Chris to pull out his gun, but he carries it carefully, ready to bring it up at a moment's notice, rather than hold it out before him. "Peter?" he calls out, but he's pretty sure that if he was going to have his presence acknowledged by anyone here, it would have been done already.

He moves across to the bedroom and peers around the doorframe before he steps inside. It's empty, too, but there's a heavy sort of thickness in the air that makes Chris think that Peter _is_ here, and his gaze moves across to the closed bathroom door. "Peter?" he asks again, moving across to knock on the door.

"What the fu- _ugh_." There's a muffled thump from inside the bathroom that is quickly followed by the undeniable sound of someone being sick. Which is…really fucking weird, because the person inside the bathroom is definitely Peter, even if he sounds a little different to usual.

"Peter? Open the door," Chris demands, allowing that he is definitely _worried_ and not caring what that says about him and this whatever-it-is he has with the werewolf. He bangs on the door, louder this time, and the action is accompanied by a groan from Peter.

"Stop doing that," he calls weakly. "What are you doing here? I didn't call you."

Chris has to delay answering the question as Peter heaves some more, and he puts his gun away so he can thump both of his fists against the door. " _Peter_. I came because you didn't answer my calls and nobody knew where you were. What's happened? Will you please _open the damn door_?"

"Absolutely not," Peter replies, managing to sound a) really horribly ill and b) like a complete snob, somehow at the same time, and Chris is glad that that particular skill is one of the things he usually likes about Peter because otherwise it would be really, really annoying.

"Absolutely _yes_ ," Chris replies, and no, it's not the best comeback he's ever voiced aloud but Peter's obviously being sick inside the bathroom and that is not supposed to happen, so he's allowed to be rubbish at the snark thing right now. "I swear to God, Peter, if you don't open this door I will _kick it down_." He gives it another good thump with his fist, just in case Peter was thinking of doubting that Chris would do exactly that, and Peter lets out a long-suffering sigh that is immediately followed by another heaving noise.

"You'd have to explain to the building manager if you did," he mutters, but there's shifting and some scrabbling with the lock before another thump. Chris is already opening the door, about to burst inside, but he stops on the threshold as he takes in the sight before him. It's…unexpected, to say the least. Chris has figured that Peter isn't quite the peak of health right now, but somehow he expected the wolf to be lounging around, the picture of put-together and casually unaffected by whatever is going on - like he usually is. Peter is about the exact opposite of that.

He's slumped against the edge of the bathtub, sandwiched between it and the toilet, and he's got one arm resting on the former, with his head leaning on that arm. He's still in his jeans, which must be uncomfortable with the way he's all curled up, but his shirt has been tossed into the corner of the room and the place smells horribly of sickness. Peter's eyes and the end of his nose are red, he's sweating in a way that he really shouldn't be in the cool apartment and his hair is all over the place.

His gaze is a little unfocused as he looks up at Chris and he sighs before closing his eyes and going totally boneless against the bathtub. "I wish you hadn't come here," Peter groans before he jerks back upright and leans over the toilet. Chris grimaces as the man vomits - only a little, though his shoulders lurch as he heaves - and falls back again, flushing the toilet without looking. He's clearly gotten used to the horrible routine.

"Turn around," Peter tries to order, but the authority of it is ruined by the fact that he looks a whole lot more pitiful and in need of comfort than Chris is used to. "I'm gonna wipe your memory of this, I swear."

"If you say so, Peter," Chris humours him, stepping into the bathroom and opening the window before he turns back around and walks out.

"Where the hell are you going?" Peter asks, not lifting his voice above his previous volume and sounding incredibly petulant for someone who apparently doesn't want Chris there.

His question is answered wordlessly, however, when Chris returns with a glass of cold water, which Peter accepts from him with more suspicion than is strictly necessary. He sniffs it, then eyes Chris over the rim of the glass. "You didn't put anything in this, did you?"

"It's just water, Peter - no nasty chemicals, I promise. Now shut up and drink it." Chris grabs a cloth from the little wicker basket of them and starts wetting it as Peter takes a sip of water, then a gulp, then drains the entire glass in another three. There's a satisfied sigh before there's shuffling and cursing and Chris turns from the sink to see Peter bent back over the toilet, throwing it all back up.

" _Slowly_ , Jesus, did you just neck the whole thing?" he demands, crouching beside the werewolf and grasping his shoulder in solidarity as he waits out the vomiting.

"Yeah," Peter admits when he's done, flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth, glancing across at Chris with eyes that are way too bright, and not in a wolfed-out way. "I didn't realise how thirsty I was."

Chris puts the cloth over Peter's forehead and the reaction is immediate; Peter lets out a short groan of thanks and lets his head roll back against the edge of the tub, lips parted in bliss as the coolness begins to sink through his skin. "You are _magical_ , Christopher, have I ever told you that?" he mutters, apparently half-delirious.

Chris smirks. "No, but feel free to do so whenever you want," he says, refilling the glass and nudging Peter's hand with it. "Drink it slowly - in little sips. And tell me what the hell is causing this, because we're going to need to sort it out."

Peter drags his head upright with some effort and presses the hand not holding the glass against the cloth to keep it in place. He takes an appropriately small sip of water, forcing himself not to just inhale the entire glass. "Nothing dangerous," he tells Chris after a moment. "It's a bug."

"You're a _werewolf_ ," Chris can't stop himself from pointing out.

Despite his current condition, Peter manages to roll his eyes. "I am _so_ fortunate to have you here, Argent," he remarks. "However would I have known that, without your insight?"

"Shut up," Chris growls. "Werewolves don't get sick."

"Werewolves don't get sick _often_ ," Peter corrects, taking another tiny sip of water and then another larger one when he can't help himself. Chris hastily removes the glass from the other's hand and ignores the pout Peter sends his way with the ease of practice. "But it does happen," Peter adds, letting his head rest against the bathtub again.

"Have you ever gotten sick before?"

Chris has to wait again for Peter's reply, because he sits abruptly and dry-heaves into the toilet for a moment, spitting into the bowl with a grimace when nothing actually comes up.

"Once," Peter says. "I was young then, though. Most of us caught it."

"What happened?" Chris asks, and holds the glass out for Peter to take another sip, taking it back once the other man has done so.

Peter shrugs. "We were sick, and then we weren't. I don't really remember." He wipes miserably at his nose with a wad of tissue before dropping it into the toilet. "You don't have to stay, you know. I'm not a kid any more, I can get through a little bug without having someone hold my hand." He retches again and scrambles to bend over the toilet before he soils his jeans while Chris waits patiently for him to be done, holding out the glass once he is.

"Drink," he says, and Peter does so. Chris takes the glass back. "I know you're not a kid, but I'm pretty sure that of the two of us, I'm more experienced at dealing with this than you are. I _have_ a kid - I've done the whole sitting-in-the-bathroom-all-night thing. I mean, Christ, you didn't even have a glass of water in here," Chris says, shaking his head at Peter's idiocy..

Peter pouts again, but his expression smooths as Chris reaches over to pry the cloth from his hands and turn it over so the cool side is pressed against Peter's forehead.

"I didn't think about it," Peter says. He knows literally nothing about being sick, or getting better, other than that it's not something he usually has to worry about. Embarrassing as the whole thing is and despite what he says, he really doesn't want Chris to leave; he feels better, somehow, having the other man's shoulder pressed comfortingly against his own, and having Chris' hand on his back each time he leans forward to throw up. "You should probably text Derek," he says after a moment. "Though if I've got it, he'll get it, eventually."

Chris pulls out his phone and sends a message to Derek anyway, and all the other werewolves in town that Peter apparently doesn't feel like warning, to let them know that Peter has a bug so they need to stay away. He also texts Allison to let her know he won't be home tonight and shoves his phone away. "Alright, done. How are you feeling now?"

"Peachy." Peter reaches out for the glass and Chris relinquishes it to him, adjusting himself so he can cram his legs more comfortably into what little space is left between the tub, the toilet and the werewolf. "What do humans do to get better?" Peter asks tiredly. "Apart from ingesting hundreds of chemicals."

"Well, that," Chris replies, shrugging one shoulder. "'Cause, you know, they actually help us. But we mostly just wait it out, like you're going to have to. Drink lots of fluids, keep comfortable. Not much you can do for this kind of thing."

Peter lets out a pained sigh at that, but it's hardly news to him.

"How long did it last, before?" Chris asks, wondering if there's anything in the bestiary about this - he's never come across it, but it seems like the sort of thing hunters ought to know about werewolves.

"Don't remember." The words are quiet, barely more than a whisper, and Chris really hopes Peter isn't going to just fall asleep right here because it'll be really hard to disentangle his limbs and get him to the bed if he does. The werewolf's eyelids are definitely drooping, however, and his grip on the glass is slack enough that he's spilled water on his thigh.

Once again, Chris removes the glass and sets it aside, sliding carefully away from Peter and pausing for a moment to make sure he isn't going to be disturbed by the movement. He remains where he is, only without Chris there he lists a little more to the side. He'll be fine for the moment.

Chris snags Peter's shirt from the corner of the bathroom and tosses it in the laundry hamper in the bedroom before he returns to the living room to switch off the television. He makes sure the front door is locked, closes all the curtains and digs through the kitchen for a large bowl Peter can be sick in later on if he needs to be.

He heads back to the bedroom and sets the bowl down on the bedside table, within easy reach once Peter's lying down. That sorted, Chris undoes his belt, dropping it on the floor and kicking off his boots to join it because if he's is going to stay up all night with a sick werewolf, he's going to make sure he's as comfortable as possible.

"Peter?" he says softly as he steps back into the bathroom. The werewolf is lying in what has to be a terribly uncomfortable position, shoulder and cheek pressed to the floor tiles while his legs remain bent awkwardly near the toilet. "Peter?" Chris repeats, leaning down to gently shake one shoulder. The skin beneath his hand is burning hot, but Peter's shivering and Chris swears under his breath.

Peter rouses a little at Chris' insistence, blinking up at him before he curls in on himself and grits his jaw. "Can you close the window?" he mumbles. "'S freezing in here."

"It's really not," Chris says, moving the glass out of the way and leaning over Peter so he can press a hand to the other man's forehead. "I'm guessing you don't have a thermometer," he adds, arching an eyebrow.

"Christopher, _please_ ," Peter returns, quiet but mockingly coy as he drags himself back to wakefulness. "You could at least wait until I'm better before you start looking for things to stick up my ass." His eyes drop closed again but his lips twitch in a faint smile.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that the employment of sarcasm is a good sign," Chris retorts, grasping Peter's shoulder and pulling at him. "C'mon. You need to rest, and you can't do that in here."

Peter's eyes fly open and he shakes his head, making a face. "No. Christopher - _no_. What if I'm sick on the sheets?"

Chris rolls his eyes. "Then you _wash_ them," he says, shoving an arm behind Peter's shoulders to force him to move forward.

"But I'll be _lying_ in _sick_ ," Peter protests, but he can hardly fight Chris off in his current state so he ends up being dragged to his feet despite his unwillingness to cooperate.

"Peter, if you start throwing up, I'm sure I'll wake up. I promise I won't let you lie in it," Chris says, remarkably patient for a man dealing with a sick werewolf. He slings an arm around Peter's waist and braces himself as the other's weight leans heavily on his shoulder, navigating them through the door and depositing Peter onto his bed.

The wolf lets out a groan that's part _I feel really shitty_ and part _this bed is so comfortable why haven_ _'_ _t I been lying here_. Peter doesn't even bother grabbing at the blankets, just wraps his arms around himself and curls up as he shivers, already half-asleep.

"Peter, no, you-" There's no point in voicing any of his protests aloud, Chris realises, because they're going to fall on deaf ears, and not just because Peter's werewolf hearing has been dampened by the bug. Rolling his eyes, Chris goes to find the glass of water and set it on the bedside table before prying Peter's limbs back open so he can undo the man's jeans.

They have to be peeled away they're so damn tight but Chris has had a whole lot of practice at that particular motion and they're soon discarded on the floor. Chris wiggles out of his own jeans before sliding into bed and, after some shuffling and shoving, manages to yank the covers up over the both of them.

Peter's skin is uncomfortably hot to be pressed against but he's still shivering so Chris presses against him anyway, wrapping his arms around the werewolf's waist and tucking his legs close. If nothing else, there's comfort to be drawn from the intimacy (though Peter would never admit that), and Chris doesn't doubt that when Peter's fever peaks he'll shove the hunter away because it's too hot to have him nearby.

For now, it's enough that they might both manage to sleep for a few hours until the next bout of sickness hits and they head back to the bathroom to wait it out. It's not so bad, Chris reflects; Peter being sick aside, it's quite nice to have an excuse to stay in for a few days and do nothing but lie here beside him, perfectly at liberty to press a kiss against Peter's shoulder while he counts out heartbeats and reflects that, actually, if this _was_ something more than casual, it wouldn't be the worst thing.


End file.
